


Some Whispered Words, a Shattered Phrase

by Molly_Hats



Series: Kinda-Sorta Writing Teamups [2]
Category: Batman (Comic), Batman (Comics), Batwoman (Comic), Detective Comics (Comics), Huntress (Comics)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Because Bette isn't giving up her sass just because she's all Dark and Gritty now, Bette is a Talon AU, Brainwashing, Gen, Humor, Immortality, Inappropriately quick tone shifts, Non-Chronological, Urban Legends, talon au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-03-23 22:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly_Hats/pseuds/Molly_Hats
Summary: “Murdered sidekicks tend to come back from the dead.  As super villains.” -BatmanAU where Medusa found Bette after Hook nearly killed her instead of the DEO, and Maro remade her as the urban legend of the Court of Owls.  In the wake of her reappearance, Kate, Helena, and the rest of Gotham will have to deal with a new enemy as more and more comes to light about who Bette was, and who she is now.





	1. Beth’s Story

**Author's Note:**

> The story is not in chronological order. I did this intentionally, to try and keep the chapters flowing smoothly, but if you're confused, the chronological order is: 1, 4, 5, 9, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 10
> 
> I’m messing with the timeline a bit to suit myself: Bruce has yet to discover that the Court of Owls isn’t just a myth, and Helena and Dick have both moved on from Spyral after several months to a year of missions.

_“Beware the Court of Owls,”_ Beth chanted. “ _That wat-ches all the time.”_

Kate stayed silent, her flashlight casting shadows on the walls. 

“Come on, Kate,” Beth urged. “What’s the point if you don’t get into it?”

“We need to be _quiet.”_

“Right, because the owls are watching--“

_“Ruling Gotham from a shadow perch,”_ Kate hurriedly whispered, mostly to keep Beth from saying it louder. She swept the flashlight up the ornate stonework of the Kane house. Her flashlight froze on a half-decayed detail, sticking out at an odd angle that didn’t match those of its neighbors. 

“ _Behind granite and lime_ ,” Kate whispered, suddenly caught by the same mood as Beth, an exhilerated shiver running up her spine as she recognized it: an owl.

_“They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed_ ,” Beth continued, voice gleefully ominous, darting forward and pulling at the tiny statuette. “ _Speak not a whispered word of them--”_

“Or they’ll send the Talon for your head,” came a deep voice suddenly from behind them. Beth screamed, letting go of the statue that upon closer inspection could have been any kind of bird. Kate froze for a second, then swung the heavy flashlight at the speaker.

He ducked, caught the flashlight before Kate could overbalance, and pointed it so the girls could see his face. It was their father, the Colonel.

“What are you doing here, girls?” He asked sternly.

Beth muttered something about secret passageways while Kate just stared at the floor, hands clasped behind her back.

“Back to bed, both of you. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”


	2. Kate’s Story

WHAM. Kate leapt into readiness, studying the window from a safe distance. Her window was bloody—a bird—no, not just any bird, an owl—had flown straight into it. 

“You expect me to lie down and die just because you threw an owl at me?” Kate yelled into the night. “All you’ve done is make sure anybody who cares about animals won’t team up with you.” 

She shut out thoughts of Bette. She was tougher than her, older than her, more experienced than her. She wouldn’t die, and nobody else would, either, if she could stop them from throwing their lives away foolishly. Stupidly.

Like Bette did.

Her phone rang. Kate would have rolled her eyes if she was less professional. She knew she was fighting urban legends, but this was just ridiculously cliche.

“I wouldn’t suppose you’re calling from inside the house?” She asked without preamble, her annoyance shining through.

A soft, possibly feminine voice answered “Beware the--”

“Yes, yes, the Court of Owls is watching all the time, etc., etc. I have some choice whispered words about you all for when you decide to actually fight instead of fruitlessly trying to scare me.”

The other end of the line softly chuckled. The sound didn’t fit in the usual legends…Owls were supposed to be ominous. Formal. Cold. If they laughed, she imagined it would be more Bond villainesque. “Katherine Kane, i would think you’d be more wary of threats.”

“You’re not the Court of Owls,” Kate said. “You’re not even a legend, are you?”

KRASH. 

Kate dropped the phone and seized a metal lamp, the light flickering and dying as she roughly pulled it from the wall. She walked toward the sound of the broken window, improvised weapon held aloft.

“Katherine Kane,” came a voice (feminine, young, the same as the phone maybe, but off somehow--perhaps a throat condition?) from the shadow before her. “The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”

Kate swung at her lunging attacker, but the lamp missed. The Talon grabbed the cord and yanked, which, while it didn’t throw Kate fully off balance, left her open to a savage left hook to the face. Kate stumbled back, but she had an advantage: she knew the layout of this place. She flicked the lights on, closing her eyes so she wasn’t blinded as well. She cracked them open to see the Talon in all her glory: full cowl, night vision goggles, bladed gauntlets on either hand. Kate pushed her advantage, leaping at the Talon’s head. Talon swerved out of the way, but stumbled off balance for a bare moment, disoriented by the sudden light. Kate kicked her in the back of the head, hard, and tackled her to the ground, knee pressing into her back, but not for long.

Talon pushed back up, superhumanly strong, launching Kate back to where she landed in a roll on the carpet, a burning pain in her side. She put her hand up to it and felt the gush of warm blood. As she struggled back up, the Talon suddenly heaved her into the air, impaling her through the gut with her gauntlet. Kate gasped in pain, struggling for breath, as the Talon let her slide onto the floor. 

Kate looked up, her vision going fuzzy, as the Talon simply stood over her, waiting for her to die.

“Agent Chase will arrive for the usual report in several hours,” the Talon said. “She will be too late.”

Kate fought to stay conscious, wishing desperately for her phone. Or life alert. 

The Talon left the room, vanishing into the night.

_Made a mistake...leaving me here_...Kate crawled to the couch and seized a thin blanket, bandaging her most gaping wounds. Holding onto the ottoman for support, she dragged herself toward the phone. 

She couldn’t call 911. Her father was too far away to call. Renee was who-knew-where. Maggie didn’t know the secret and might ask questions. She almost cursed having investigators as a type. This left two only options, neither of which were particularly nice. But she wouldn’t go to the DEO. 

it was a clear choice. He had more experience in this area than she did. He knew Gotham. If anybody knew how to thwart the Owls, he would. And besides, he wouldn’t use it to manipulate her like the DEO would.

Sucking up her pride, she dialed the phone number. Alfred answered.


	3. Kate’s Story

“You’ve suffered critical wounds, but you should recover. Miss Kane, you may have done what I thought was impossible: you’re better at getting hurt and ignoring it than Master Bruce. A few weeks ago you were stabbed through the heart, and now you’re back again.”

“What’s the damage?”

“You were stabbed through the gut. The sword scraped against your ribs, but amazingly it missed everything critical. They stabbed clean through your midsection, and slashed up a good amount of your torso. You’re lucky to be alive. I believe you made the right choice coming here.”

Kate, on the other hand, was beginning to question her decision. Bruce grunted out questions from his seat at the Batcomputer, running her through the story again and again to make sure she didn’t miss anything, while Alfred fussed over her in the medical station which could probably qualify as a hospital in and of itself.

“Her fighting style was familiar,” Kate admitted. “But I’m not as formally trained in martial arts as you are, Bruce.” The admission was difficult, but she got it out. For Bette.

Oh, Bette would’ve loved this place. Would’ve loved to be in her place. Everything would’ve been different if Robin or Bruce or one of their allies had found her. She would’ve woken up with hot cocoa and Alfred and a call to Kate, and Kate would’ve been furious and not even relieved to have her cousin alive. But she would’ve been alive. It would’ve been an adventure, Flamebird’s first time in the batcave.

Kate finally pushed herself out of the reverie, scolding herself. Such daydreaming was useless and harmful. Focus on the task at hand. 

“Do you have any footage of Flamebird in action?”

Bruce pulled it up instantly, letting it play on several screens. On one, he pointed to a flip kick that he’d set on repeat, and pulled up a video of Kate performing the exact same move. “Did you invent this one?”

Kate tried to remember, sitting up on the cot. The white bandages nearly matched her eerily pale skin. “Yes. I practiced it with Bette a few times, but mostly just with my father and his crows.”

Bruce watched it loop for awhile before changing the subject. “This group you’re fighting. They feed on belief.”

Kate nodded. “I hate magic. Give me problems I can punch.”

“Indeed,” Alfred said. 

“Anyway,” Bruce said, “The Court of Owls…” Bruce pulled up a database, scrolling through it on his several screens. “The legend is the usual: a cabal of the rich in high society controlling everything and partaking in occult rituals...one of my ancestors spoke about them before he went insane and was found in the sewer…”

“Perhaps there was a truth to begin with, as there is with Killer Croc.” Kate said. “Pull up details on the Talons.”

“Children with excellent skill who were undervalued… vulnerable… particularly from circuses…said to be difficult if not impossible to kill...some theorize they’re already dead, some sort of zombie.”

Kate sat in silence, watching the pieces fit together and struggling to find another way to read them, the physical sensations of hope and grief duking it out in her chest. “Bruce. You remember what you said to me about murdered sidekicks?”

“You think Talon is Bette.” It wasn’t a question.

Kate’s breath hitched. She didn’t say anything for awhile, let Bruce keep cycling through data. Finally, she said, “I’m not losing my family to that again. If it’s Bette, if there’s any _chance_ it is Bette, I’ll stop at nothing to bring her in safe.”

Bruce’s head lowered to stare at the keyboard. “If it is her, the attack implies she has a personal grudge against you.”

“If she’s alive to hate me, that’s a step up.” Kate stood up. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Any time. Always a pleasure to see you here, although I wish you’d come under better circumstances.”

“No promises,” Kate said, grabbing a shirt from the pile of clothes on the table and slipping it on. It hurt, everything hurt, but she’d be okay. She just needed a little rest, time to think, and then she’d be out there.

She couldn’t fail Bette again.

“I’ll help you.”

“No.” Kate said firmly, putting her shoes on. She looked up to meet his eyes. “I don’t want Wayne history and bat drama complicating this.”

Bruce stared her down for a minute, then nodded.


	4. Helena’s Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bette’s funeral, feat. angst with Helena

“I’m going to kill the bastard who did this to her,” Helena muttered. 

“Helena—“

“Don’t start, Babs,” Helena snapped. “Nobody knew her except me. Nobody _wanted_ to. And why? She was better than all of you!”

Dinah laid a hand on Helena’s shoulder, and Helena’s head whipped around to face her. “And we’ll regret that for the rest of our lives.”

Helena’s eyes watered, and she tipped her head down, letting the veil netting of her black hat hide her face. “We were going out for lunch on Tuesday,” she whispered. “She was going to show me one of her favorite restaurants. She said it would,” she breathed hard, “be a surprise. And now I’ll...I’ll never know…”

Dinah hugged her. 

“Are you ready for this?” Barbara asked.

Helena nodded and stepped forward, pulling the shovel from its place in the loose dirt. Hands shaking like they never did when she aimed a bow, she scooped up some of the dirt by the grave and gently tossed it onto the coffin.

She was glad she couldn’t see Bette’s body. It would’ve ruined her. But the image still appeared, cobbled together from memories and details of the reports, all the bodies she’d ever seen with Bette’s face superimposed on them. 

She shivered and nearly dropped the shovel, pushing it back into the dirt for the next person. It wasn’t very firmly placed, and tipped over, but Helena just felt a surge of anger: at it, at herself, at Bette.

Bette, who laughed and made terrible puns. Bette, who no one could stop from flirting in any circumstance. Bette, who nobody ever paid attention to. Bette, who did her nails so pretty and told her about the latest superhero gossip. Bette, who everyone left not out of dislike for her, but because they had better things to do.

And now Bette had left them all. 

Helena sleepwalked through the rest of the ceremony, nearly walking off with the washing cup afterward. She came home and fell into bed fully clothed, makeup on, piles of papers to be graded on her desk.

She closed her eyes, but didn’t fall asleep for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can’t write about Bette without at least some references to Betteinelli


	5. Bette’s Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback (flashback...flashback...)

“Talon,” Maro said as Bette climbed out of the coffin-like box. He gestured to the costume lying on a table even with the rim. “Put that on.”

She complied, looking rather startled at her pale skin, her lack of a need to breathe, her new surroundings. “Where am I?” She asked, stepping towards him. She looked around and froze at the sight of Hook. “What is that _thing_ doing here?”

Maro smiled. “He’s yours.”

“What?”

“Kill him.”

“Hrrrrrnnn What?!” Hook rumbled, his voice cracking to sound like metal scraping across metal.

Slipping on her cowl, Bette smiled. “With pleasure.”

Bette was new to her weapons, but she was used to improvising. After all, these weapons weren’t disguised as feminine accessories. Midway through she found the blade on her gauntlet. She slashed at Hook, and he screamed with two voices. She shoved her blade into his gut, ripping it out with a stream of blood, then let him fall to the ground and planted a boot on his chest.

She seized the hook with one hand and began to saw at his arm with the other, his cries growing weaker and weaker as she finally severed the hook from his arm.

“My body!” The hook shrieked. In another life, Bette might have flinched. As it was, she simply gripped it harder and stepped off of Rush, who was quickly transforming into his usual self without the hook, blood pooling around him, the light dying in his eyes.

“Bring the Ashoth to me,” Maro instructed. 

Bette hesitated, grimacing at the weapon, but turned back to him and handed him the hook.

Mari smiled. “You’ve performed well, my Talon,” Maro said. “Batwoman is yours once you perform one more task.” 

Behind her mask, Bette smiled.


	6. Dick’s Story

To say that Dick Grayson, also known as Nightwing, was unprepared for the unexpected would be rather untrue. He was, after all, Batman’s oldest son. That came with a certain amount of preparedness.

And honestly, as far as villains went, someone dressed like a steampunk owl wasn’t that bad to have on your couch. Dick remembered hearing JLA members complaining about coming home to find Darkseid calmly sitting in their living room, waiting for them. 

He set down his glass of milk, pulled out his escrimas, and turned to face the living room. “What do you want?”

The Talon’s face turned to him, the cowl’s cloth shifting. “Richard Grayson.”

“The Court of Owls has sentenced me to die?” Dick finished. “You’re a bit more slow about it than the others were.”

“Oh, no. The Owls don’t wish to kill you. The Owls wish to keep you out of the way.”

“While you do what?”

“Destroy the Batwoman.”

Dick’s eyes squinted. “I know you.”

He couldn’t see her response on her face.

“Stay down, Dick.”

“You know I won’t.”

“That’s why I released knockout gas in here ten minutes ago.”

“Oh come...onnn…” Dick complained as he dropped to the floor.

He woke up some time later to Helena shaking him. He sat up immediately, blinking back the dizziness of getting up too fast. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. 

“What happened?” Helena asked.

Dick stood up, swaying slightly, and Helena quickly moved to support him, her arm looping through his. 

“A talon attacked me.”

“I thought they were gone!”

“This one was different,” Dick said. “Familiar. And slightly...the details were different from the rest of them. She didn’t say anything about the Court of Owls, and she acted like she knew me.”

“Everybody acts like they know you,” Helena said. “It’s part of your charm.”

“Fair point,” Dick said with a twitch of his lips. “We need to find her.”

Something pushed Helena into Dick, throwing them both off-balance. They fell onto the carpet and awkwardly scrambled to detangle themselves, Helena raising her crossbow to the attacker.

“I don’t think finding me will be a problem,” Talon said, standing over them. She almost casually flicked out the blade on her gauntlet, its long shadow arcing across Dick’s back. 

“Come on then,” Helena said, letting the arrow fly.


	7. Dick's Story

Talon seized the bolt out of the air and casually snapped it in half. “You’ve grown sloppy.”

Helena grimaced and nocked another arrow. “Get up, 37! Go!”

“We’ve got a better chance together--” Dick’s sentence cut off in a scream as a knife tore into the back of his shoulder. He dropped down to a crouch, revealing Talon standing behind him, arm extended. 

He shifted onto his good arm and struck out at her with lightning speed, pressing both of his feet with all his weight behind them into her knees. He heard a satisfying crunch, and Talon stumbled backward into the wall. 

“You still haven’t lost your touch, Robin,” Talon said.

Helena responded first. “What did you just say?!” 

“Quiet, Hela,” Talon said. She stood up and made her way toward Dick, but Helena slammed into her, knocking her to the ground in a blur of purple.

“Where did you get that name?!” Helena demanded, and Dick could just barely see the wild look in her eye. Helena ripped off the cowl covering Talon’s face to reveal a white mask underneath it, nearly completely blank except for two eyes and a small owl’s beak.

Suddenly, it clicked, not because of some new clue, but because he finally saw how they fit together. Dick stood up, adrenaline and realization giving him energy, dulling the pain. “That’s Bette,” he said, breathing hard and speaking quietly. Then, louder, in case Helena didn’t hear him, “that’s Bette Kane!”

“No!” Helena whispered. "She's dead!"

“We’ll work it out later, just don’t shoot her! We need to get to the bottom of this!”

Helena stood up. “Stay down, Dick,” she said, nocking another arrow. 

“What are you—“

Helena let it fly.

Dick grabbed the crossbow in her hand, his hand crossing over hers on the trigger, squeezing harder than he meant to.

“Did you hear what I said?!” He demanded.

“Of course I did,” Helena said, and her tone was that of Matron—crisp and blunt and impassive. 

Helena pulled away and fired again as he lurched toward her, tackling her to the ground so that her crossbow skipped away. He was too late; the arrow hit its mark, fire ripping across Bette’s full-body costume. 

“Helena, no!” Dick shouted, rooting around in his utility belt for fire retardant foam. He sprayed it at Bette with a pained expression on his face, but Bette seemed unperturbed by the flames, moving with alarming quickness to launch several more of the knives at Helena and moving with alarming quickness to pin him to the wall, her blade to his throat.

“Bette...please...we can help you...we can keep you safe…” Dick said, his tiptoes barely resting on the floor. “Whatever they’ve done…”

“Harming you is not my intention,” Bette said. 

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Dick commented.

“Less talk, more taking down the killing machine,” Helena said.

“Deal, Hun,” Dick said, grabbing onto Bette's arms to launch himself upward, his knee hitting between her legs. She pulled away from the wall, and Dick seized the opportunity to run to Helena's side. “Got any freeze arrows in there by chance?”

“I’ve barely got _normal_ arrows anymore,” Helena said. 

“Up to me then. Keep her busy.”

“On it.”

“And don’t kill her.”

Helena didn’t say anything as she launched herself at Bette, a broken arrow in her hand like a pathetic knife. Bette watched her come, her owl mask half-lit in the moonlight coming through the window.

“You’ve gotten weaker. Am I right in thinking I was responsible?”

“Nghh!” Helena grunted, driving the point of the arrow into Bette’s outstretched hand. Bette’s other hand closed around Helena’s wrist and held on. Dick half expected to hear a snap as Bette broke her wrist, but Bette held back. Too weak? Or honestly not trying to hurt them?

He pushed the thoughts aside and threw several batarangs at her. She casually slashed through them with her blade. They exploded in her face—freezing her in her tracks as the world snapped cold.

Helena yanked her hand out of Bette’s stiff one. “What do we do?”

“We call backup,” Dick said firmly.


	8. Helena's Story

There had been unanimous agreement: they weren’t handing Bette over to the DEO. They had a cell in the Batcave, most recently used to house that Bruce Wayne doppelganger (it was weird and complicated and Helena honestly didn’t care at this point). Now, it was being used to hold Bette, temperature lowered well below freezing, the walls darkened.

“She’ll talk to me,” Helena said. “Please, just let me see her.”

Kate stood in front of the door, arms crossed, directly blocking Helena’s path. To the side, Batman studied them.

“Shouldn’t you be at work right now?” Kate asked.

“Most of my students disappeared last night,” Helena said shortly. “My best lead is through that door, and I’m your best chance of getting her to talk.”

“Helena—“ Kate started, but Bruce coughed. 

“She’s right.”

Kate glared at Bruce, who, with practiced ease, ignored her to speak to Helena. “Ten minutes. We’ll monitor you the whole time.”

Helena nodded. 

“Put this on,” Bruce said, holding out a Batgirl suit. “It’s insulated.”

Helena hesitated, then took it. 

\--

Bette sat in the center of the room her wrists cuffed. Helena could see her own breath in the air as she sat down across from her.

“Bette,” Helena said.

“Hela.” Bette acknowledged slowly, her jaw moving reluctantly to shape the name.

“Twenty-eight children I care a great deal about were kidnapped last night,” Helena said, brushing the pet name aside. “I wasn’t there to help them, because you attacked Dick and called me for help.”

Bette stared at her, unblinking, unmoving, not even breathing.

Helena suppressed a shudder and pushed on. “You made a distraction.”

“Yehh.”

“Who was your accomplice?”

Helena could see Bette’s tongue moving through her slightly parted lips. 

“Oh-rohhnaa.” 

“La llorona?”

“Yehh.”

“Are you working for Medusa?”

“Yehh.”

Helena leaned forward. “What does Medusa want the children for?”

Bette’s lips twitched with effort. 

“Batman, turn the temperature up!” Helena hissed into her mouthpiece.

Batman’s voice immediately responded in her ear. “That is not a wise decision.” 

“Do it now, dammit!”

Bette’s mouth opened slightly more, and, slowly, her mouth formed the words. “To down… the woold.”

“How?”

Bette’s eyes shifted for the first time to meet Helena’s as she spoke. “Thummon the mother of monthters.”

“Keto?”

Bette’s lips curved into a smile, slicing across the skin of her frozen face like a gash from a knife. “We will be monsters together. All of us.” She blinked, and her watery eyes were that deep blue Helena remembered.

“We can be a new Court of Owls,” Bette continued. “Flesh and blood, ruling Gotham as we were meant to.”

Everything happened in slow motion. Helena leapt up out of her chair as Bette jerked her arms apart, breaking the cuffs chaining her to the table like they were made of paper. Helena scrambled for the door, but Bette fell onto her, the dead weight holding her down, the warmth from Helena’s suit slowly soaking into Bette.

“Open the door, Bruce.”

“Bette,” Bruce’s voice came from everywhere around them, “I can’t let you do that.”

The room suddenly dropped in temperature.

“You’ll kill her before you disable me,” Bette said. “I know you, cuz. You won’t sacrifice her.”

“D-don’t,” Helena managed, teeth chattering. She struggled to draw the freezing air into her lungs against the pressing weight. “D-don’t l-let h-her.”

“I was just buying time,” Bruce said.

The door swung open, and a bulky power suit of armor thumped in. Helena looked up, wide-eyed. Bette simply smiled.

“Kate. I wondered when you would show.” Bette scooped up Helena and threw her at the metal center of the armor. Helena tried to turn in midair, but was mostly unsuccessful. Her head hit metal, and she saw no more.


	9. Falchion's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The task

“Are you another of my monsters?” Falchion asked, stepping towards her. Bette tilted her head and remained silent, as if not understanding. He made his way down the steps to her, and his hand found the corner of her cowl. Like lifting a wedding veil for the first kiss, he pulled it up and rested it on the top of her head.

“You’re magnificent,” he breathed as he took in her white mask. “I had no idea Maro had the power to create the Court of Owls.”

Bette held up her gauntlet and slowly showed him how the blade could be flipped out. 

He ran his hand along the air above it, smiling and eyeing it greedily. “Mother will love you.”

Bette jerked her hand, sending the blade into Falchion’s stomach. 

Falchion spluttered, blue blood pouring from the wound. He fell to his knees. “That was foolish, little gorgon,” he gagged. He pulled out his sword and slashed at Bette, who twisted out of the way so that it only tore her uniform. “You will not escape me or the mother of monsters. You will suffer immortal pain in--” An arrow pierced his throat from behind, and he gasped for breath, a wet, rasping sound.

Bette glanced up to see Maro standing with a bow and arrow, perched at the height of the set of stairs behind them. 

“Traitughl...trrai…” Falchion finally gurgled. His eyes closed.

Bette approached him, her footfalls silent. She raised her blade and brought it down. Falchion’s head rolled to a stop by Maro’s feet.

“Good,” Maro said, picking up Falchion’s head. “I shall bring this to Medusa and tell her how Batwoman murdered her remaining son. When the mother orders us to kill her, I will allow you the pleasure.”

Bette nodded. Maro disappeared into a portal as she watched, leaving her standing in the empty room, surrounded by lines of slowly drying blue blood.


	10. Bette’s Story

“Be more careful, güera,” Maria chided, running her hand along Bette’s rapidly healing wounds.

“I’m fine, Maria,” Bette said. She hesitated, then said, “Thank you. You saved me.”

Maria’s face softened, and her eyes looked as though they might be growing teary again—happy ones this time. She gently placed her hands on Bette’s head as if blessing her. Bette tilted her head down, and Maria kissed her scalp.

“My sweetest girl.”

Bette stood up and began to put on her uniform again, wrapping her hands and slipping on her gauntlets.

“You don’t have to go now, mija,” Maria said, swooping over to her. She lay a hand on Bette’s cheek, and Bette barely felt the sensation of cool water on her face.

“No, I need to strike when they least expect it if I am to keep a low profile,” Bette argued. “And that means around now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s so short, school has been kicking my butt lately. Still, I wanted to get something posted before the 23rd (when who knows what will happen).

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Talon rhyme and the song Unmade by Dangerkids


End file.
